Mate In Ten Moves
by Complica
Summary: There's one piece left on the board. A scrambled image ficlet. Rated for language.


(Important Notations: This is a ficlet, contrived in a method that ignores such things as timetables and actual Marvel plot. It's done by picking a handful of scans from a particular comic arc, and writing a story around them. Do not expect to place this in the Marvel time frame. But if you can pick out the images, then I did well enough.)

* * *

I watched Emma Frost fuck my husband last night. She smiled at me over the footboard when he came. She's the only one who knows I'm here. Which stands to reason considering that she's the one who put me here. 

The White Queen is more powerful than any of us ever gave her credit for. We put her in charge of our children for God's sake. We trusted her with our school. But she's never changed. There has never been a redemption. She played us all for fools.

And now I'm standing her, watching her dismiss and dominate Scott like a child. Like a playtoy. She's doing it because I'm here. She's doing it because she can see me, screaming in his ear, knowing full well he won't hear me. Throwing books and pencils and the Professor's bust of Alexander the great against the wall, knowing that he'll step right over them, and never know they'd fallen. I burned the foyer to ash a week ago. And they still pass through the ash covered walls and over the broken glass without noticing a thing.

The Professor was the hardest for her to control, I think. He's the more powerful telepath, but also the least aggressive. He knew. For a moment, I saw him look at me. Directly at me. See me. I saw his eyes widen in understanding. Narrow in concentration. And for a second I thought it was over. Then his blue eyes got glazy. She walked into the room, Scott in tow. And they threw Professor Xavier out of his own damn house.

I turned to Logan next. He kept getting wisps of me. My scent. My voice. He probably thought he was going mad. It's difficult to keep a mental hold on him. I know that from experience. But she knew immediately when he understood. And she raped his mind. He's huddling up in a tree this very moment, praying to a God I know for a fact he's never believed in.

I let it go for a time. Let her play Queen of my throne. Let her think she's beaten me. Because though she's stronger than I ever gave her credit for, I'm a million years older. I've burned in the middle of a star. I know what's really in the darkness of space and the darkness of minds. And she's just a girl who likes to play at royalty. A lying bitch that slipped a metal collar around my neck one night, and by morning, convinced everyone I ever loved that I died.

I was willing to be patient. To pick my moment. If she thought this was a chess game, I'd remind her that not all the pieces are on the board. But then I saw her smile at me as she fucked my husband last night. I walked away as he told her he loved her. The flames licked up my insides, boiling to get out. Burning away at the artificial walls built around them. Burning like paper in a growing ring of ash. Destroying everything in its path before rebuilding. Rising again, just like what they put on my tombstone.

She doesn't know yet. But it bothers her that she couldn't find me after last night. Worry to the point of distraction. It must take a good bit of effort to keep this illusion going. Things are slipping. Balls are no longer performing perfectly in the air. And she's curious as to why. But she hasn't made the connection yet. Because I haven't allowed it.

I start with Logan. He's sleeping peacefully. No nightmares. I almost want to leave him with this bit of peace. But I know at what cost its come. And when he does as well, he'd hate me for even considering it. A brush of my mind on his. She felt that. But she's a little busy right now trying to keep Kitty Pryde from costing her a couple hundred thousand dollars in plastic surgery. I take a beer can from the open fridge, float it down the hall. Past a crowd hurrying upstairs to see what the commotion is about. It hovers towards me, pausing over Logan's head. I touch his mind again, lay in the trigger, then let it drop.

It rolls into his lap. He blinks sleepily and picks it up. Stares at it. His eyes widen as he catches my scent. I lean in. Whisper in his ear. "I'm not dead."

His eyes narrow.

I can feel her then, reaffirming her control, trying to muffle my scent and my form. But it's too late. She can't wipe out what I've done without dropping the rest of her illusion to focus her energy on the Wolverine's formidable mind.

The game is over. She just doesn't realize it yet. Hard to presume you'll lose when there's only one piece left alone to confront you. Further more, when it's generally considered a victory to fall the king. Emma's fatal flaw, was that she failed to consider how hard it is to kill a Phoenix. I've just taken back my knight. And my king is next.


End file.
